It’s a summer night in
the park,
The crowd is sated after
their picnic.
The weather holds,
Despite hovering black
clouds above,
The music rolls over
them
In powerful brassy
waves.
Half lying down on the
grass
The rest playing with
their smart phones.
The orchestra alight
and on fire
Giving them the best
of Romantic music.
Entranced by the
mechanical droning of the cellos
In the distance and
the heat
The last row players has
flattened
To a rank of black
carton cut silhouettes
The violins have
coalesced into
The indistinct body of
an Indian avatar
With numerous arms and
heads.
The soprano is the
only living one
In her pink and black
frilly frock
Her love complaint fills
the firmament,
Empty witness of an eternal
love.
16/2/2012
L. Bailliet©
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